In Her Dreams
by Jack E. Peace
Summary: Christine is leaving Paris and she finds it easy to remember just what she's leaving behind.


_Disclaimer: _None of the characters belong to me. The title and inspiration come from the song "Hear Me" by Kelly Clarkson.

**A/N**: Okay, this is my first successfully finished _Phantom _fic and I'm not sure it's great. But, here it is anyway; review kindly, it's my first POTO story. But I do love the movie/book. And this story is dedicated to my best friend Lucie, who deserves much more thanks then I can give her and she knows why. Love ya, dear heart ;)

The breeze that whipped Christine Daae's curled tresses against her porcelain cheeks was cool and smelled strongly of salt water. She wrinkled her nose slightly but made no other move, remaining where she was, leaning against the damp and rusted railing of the ocean liner that she currently found herself traveling upon. She had never been too found of the sea and yet, she had quickly discovered that she couldn't move herself from the deck, couldn't pull her eyes away from the landscape before her. Or, perhaps, it was the receding Paris skyline that she couldn't take her eyes off of.

Christine sighed deeply to herself and pushed her unruly locks behind her ears, attempting to keep them from batting against her face. She knew, however, that the wind would win out sooner or later and she would be battling her hair once again. With her dark curls momentarily subdued, Christine allowed her elbows to rest against the cold metal railing, cradling her chin in the palm of her hand. Her gaze slipped down to the azure water beneath the metal sides of the ship and she couldn't even see her reflection; she squinted her eyes, though she didn't know quite what she was looking for.

Blinking away the foam that collected on her curled lashes, Christine lifted her head once again and allowed her gaze to slip back toward the city she was leaving behind. She knew that was what she was attempting to avert her gaze from; only undue sadness could come from watching as her home for so many years vanished into the distance. Sadness that she had been trying for so long not to give into, to ignore and smile away as though leaving Paris behind was like tossing out an old pair of shoes. And, as far as Christine knew, her act had worked on the one person it had been performed for.

At that moment, her future husband was no where to be seen and Christine found it easy to allow her thoughts to slip toward the home she would never see again. Her shoulders heaved with another sigh and she shifted her position, casting her glance to the ground -or lack there of- once again. There was nothing to see beneath the dark waves and yet she found herself staring with deep concentration; anything...anything at all to keep her thoughts from the Paris Opera House.

Christine wouldn't allow herself to think about what she was really attempting not to wonder about, not to dream about. Once again, those thoughts were unnecessary and nothing good would come from thinking about just who she was leaving behind. Whenever her thoughts turned to the people she was leaving as opposed to the place, she managed to convince herself that she would miss Meg and the woman who had become like a mother to her. She had even gone as far to convince herself that she would miss Carlotta; whoever she could to keep her thoughts from the one person her heart really longed for.

It had only been weeks ago when Raoul, the Viscomte de Changy, had informed his bride to be that they would be leaving Paris, and all the strange memories tied to the City of Lights, behind and going to the relatively new world that was the Americas. Though Christine had never fully understood the need for this voyage but she had not thought to question it; she knew, somewhere in the eaves of her mind she truly did understand the unspoken reason for their departure. Raoul was afraid of the constant threat that he would face, whether it be real or imagined, in Paris, the constant worry that he would loose the woman he loved. Perhaps, a part of him was even worried about the competition that would surely follow if his future wife was still so near to the man who had almost stolen her away.

Christine knew that all of these worries and thoughts were baseless, especially the latter; Raoul had nothing to worry about, it was he she loved and that was all there was to it. And yet...that didn't stop her thoughts from spinning away from her once again and turning her mind toward the person that often haunted her nightmares and populated her sweetest dreams. The person she truly regretted leaving behind.

Her Angel of Music, the man who had delivered a range of emotions to her young heart, twisted and molded her young mind, loved her in a way that was both frightening and exhilarating. The man who had taught her so much about everything; the man she knew by no name other then the one he had given himself. Angel of Music. Her Angel of Music.

Christine's chocolate colored eyes swept toward Paris once again, which was now little more then an outline in the fog. Was he watching her somehow, somewhere, as he always seemed to do? Did he know? Did he know that she was leaving him behind forever? She hoped that her departure had escaped his knowledge because she didn't want to think about how he would feel, suddenly completed abandoned. And a part of her didn't want to admit the way that leaving him seemed to tear her heart to pieces as well. Admitting that leaving him killed a part of her as well would be like admitted that a part of her still loved him.

And admitting that would force her to admit that she always had loved him. And that was dangerous ground, ground that Christine couldn't even begin to cross; she had never understood how a person could love two people at the exact same time for totally different reasons. She didn't understand it now but she had long since learned not to question it; things just worked out better that way.

While there was no doubt in her mind and in her heart that she loved Raoul -there never had been-, there was also that same unshakable knowledge that she loved her Angel just as much. But the fact that the love she was feeling for the men was completely different, so impossible to put into words was so frustrating and caused her to want to shout and throw something. A normal tantrum, something she had seen the ballet tarts do many times before; something she had never allowed herself to do. A tantrum wouldn't solve anything, Christine knew this, but that didn't mean that it wouldn't make her feel better.

Christine narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, doing her best to pout for no one but herself; she had never been one to vocalize her anger or her unhappiness and she found that it wasn't exactly working out now. She wasn't angry, she didn't feel like pouting; she was just sad, her blood ran with a sorrow she couldn't really name.

Another sigh escaped her lips and her shoulders slumped and she leaned against the railing once again, her attempt at a tantrum fit for a prima donna having quickly passed. Yelling and breaking things wouldn't make her any less upset about leaving behind her home and her tutor and might even make her feel worse. Fully admitting the pain it caused her to leave him behind was something she hadn't allowed herself to do and something she hoped she never would allow herself to. It was a luxury she couldn't really afford and so it was best if she just pretended like it wasn't an option.

But trying not to think of her Angel of Music was like an open invitation for him to invade her mind once again and Christine closed her eyes slowly and allowed herself to hear his beautiful voice in her head once more. Just once more. No matter what Raoul would say to her, or constantly mumble to himself, her teacher wasn't evil; he wasn't a demon, he wasn't a devil. He was just a man, a poor, unhappy man who happened to make the mistake of loving her.

Her mental imaginings amounted to nothing and Christine was left with nothing more then the sea breeze against her cheeks. Her mind was empty, devoid of the presence that both frightened and enchanted her.

For a moment, Christine regretted that she had left Paris at all; she didn't regret leaving with Raoul (it was the exact opposite; every time she thought about Raoul her heart skipped a beat). She couldn't quite put her finger on just what she regretted; perhaps she regretted leaving behind the man who had sworn to love her despite the number of obstacles and warning signs that told him to stay away. Perhaps she regretted that she would no longer be able to see his face, as deformed and beautiful as it was, again; wouldn't be able to feel his presence around her anymore. Christine knew she would no longer wake with his voice in her head, coaxing her through her dreams.

But, perhaps, she was wrong about that. Perhaps she wouldn't be alone in her dreams. Christine became increasingly aware of this possibility, the stalwart knowledge that her Angel of Music would never truly leave her. No, he would always be there; close to her in her dreams.


End file.
